The Runaway Child
by Dragons-Flying-High
Summary: When Lestrade asks Sherlock and John to find a girl who's been missing from the care home for six months now, they gladly accept. However, that was before they knew their favourite DI's plan to drop her in their care
1. Chapter 1

"Shit shit shit shit shit!" I cursed under my breath as I evaded the police for the third time that day. My stamina was running out as I hopped swiftly over the stone benches that dotted the London park, but I could still hear the officers chasing after me. Taking a quick dive for an alleyway on the other side of the road, I clambered up the mesh fence as quick as I could, the metal digging into my fingers as I gripped to it. By the time the officers had reached the fence I was away on the other side, running like a madman, trying to find a place they couldn't find me. Spotting a rather nicely tucked away ladder that lead to the roof of a building, I took my chances and headed straight for it, praying that I could climb up it in time.

My prayers were answered it seemed, for as I made it to the concrete top the officers had just arrived from taking the long way around, and I was safe above the rooftops where they couldn't see me. Lying flat on my back my chest rose and fell as I got my breathing back to normal, the grin on my face spreading like wildfire as I successfully escaped the rather stupid police force. It would be the downfall of me, cutting my escapes so close, but I lived for the rush of adrenaline that it gave me. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through my veins at breakneck speeds, I loved it all. I couldn't get enough of it – some would call me an adrenaline junkie of sorts – and it was what I lived for. I enjoyed making the police constantly fail to catch a fifteen year old girl, it was highly amusing to watch their attempts.

As my breathing returned to normal I looked up into the sky, now darkening, and splashes of water began to hit my face. I knew by the clouds that a heavy rain was coming, and I checked that the police were out of sight before turning my hoodie inside out. I'd altered it so that on one side it was pure black, and on the other it was a more common grey, unlikely to draw attention. That little trick had saved my ass more times than I cared to remember, yet they still never caught on. I had walked right past them once, and none of them even spared me a glance. Oh, I did enjoy outsmarting people.

Climbing back down the ladder I looked for a street sign that could tell me where I was, and I soon found one. Now knowing my bearings, I headed back to the "shack" as I called it, which was really just an old abandoned storage locker that I had turned into my living accommodation. It wasn't too far from where I was, so I managed to get back just as the rain began to get heavy. Quietly lifting the old steel door, I slipped inside and closed it again, the rain tapping against the piece of old steel that I'd used to patch up the leaky roof. I liked the sound of the rain, it comforted me.

Taking my days loot from my custom made hidden pockets, I placed them down next to the small gas stove; Two cans of soup, a small loaf of bread, some turkey rashers and a bar of white chocolate. I'd managed to steal more than normal that day, having a particularly successful haul, and all the running had made me hungry. Normally when I used the gas stove I used a pole to move the piece of steel that kept the rain out, meaning the place wouldn't get all gassed up, but as it was currently raining I settled for eating the chocolate bar for now, and hoping the rain would go off later so I could have some hot soup.

The Shack was dark, but I often managed to get a bunch of candles and a lighter easily, so I wasn't in much need of electricity. The stove ran on little cylinders full of ethane, which were a pest to run with due to the weight, but I'd been successful in pinching them without detection so far. Food, I stole, water was filtered through a home made - yet working - water filter that sat on the roof and though tubes lead to three large tanks, and other necessities I either made or stole. I'd been living in the Shack for six months, getting by just fine and evading the police on a day to day basis. I was clever though; I never stole too close to home so that they wouldn't find it, I was careful most of the time, and I was fast too. Not once had they even managed to lay a finger on me since I ran away.

Sitting on the old mattress that I'd found in a skip, which was covered with stolen blankets, I opened the wrapper that was protecting the chocolate, inhaling as the sweet scent met my nose. Nibbling at the white chocolate I savoured the taste, enjoying every bit of it. I didn't often steal sweets, as I saw it as a little treat to myself, and so I was making sure I enjoyed every bite. Until I got interrupted.

As soon as I heard nearing footsteps I shoved the chocolate bar into my pocket, blew out all the candles, and went through the practised routine I had for when intruders came knocking. All the items were against the back wall for a specific reason; I hefted up the surprisingly light mattress and drew it back to the wall, hiding myself and all my stolen goods with it. From the front it simply looked like an old abandoned locker with a beat up mattress leaning against the wall, which most people would just move on from and keep walking. I'd only had to use it twice, but it had worked both times.

I heard the front door lifted up, the sound of rain getting louder, and I held my breath. There was silence for a moment, and then footsteps getting closer.

"Sherlock, there's nothing in here, come on lets try another one," a man's voice said, sighing. Whoever he was talking to gave no reply. "It's just an old mattress."

I heard a few sniffs, and I know whoever was there could smell the smoke from the candles. Normally the smell would have gone by now, but as the hole in the roof was currently sealed the smoke had nowhere to go. I saw a hand grab the corner of my mattress, and I readied myself with a can of soup already in my pocket. As soon as the hand drew the mattress back I shoved it forward, dashing past the person I had just shoved and the man in the doorway. I took a swift turn left, trying to stay away from mud where they could track my feet, and heard cries from behind me as I was being chased. A grin on my face once more, I decided I'd entertain myself with these two.

Being sure to stay in plain view while a safe distance ahead of them, I headed down the small alleyways that I knew so well. Twisting and turning, even turning back to laugh at them, I lead them both in the pointless game of cat and mouse that only I could win. I smiled at their futile attempts, ignoring the bits of brown hair that stuck to my face with the rain. I was having too much fun to notice the weather. Soon it appeared that I had lost them, and I climbed up a fire exit staircase on the outside of a building, heading to a rooftop once more to see if I could watch them run around franticly trying to find me. Perched above the street I looked down, scanning the crowd for the idiots who trying to catch me.

"We're not down there," a deep voice said, and I turned to see a tall man standing there, his black curls sticking to his head as they were drenched in rain, while the shorter man who I'd run past stood behind me. Using all my agility and strength, I evaded a grab he made for me and threw the can of soup at his head. It hit dead on, not killing him or anything, but dazing him for a few seconds, letting me get my escape. I leapt from one roof to another, minding the slippery wet concrete, and was on the run once more. I dared to turn to see my perusers, but once again they were not there. I stopped for a moment, confused, until a pair of hands grabbed my wrists and held them behind my back.

"A bit young for being chased, are you not?" the man with the deep voice said.

"A bit old for chasing young girls, are you not? That just doesn't look right," I retorted. Before I could make any more snide remarks I saw the shorter man jog up in front of me, out of breath.

"Sherlock a little – warning next time you – decide to run of – like that," he huffed.

"Oh do keep up John," the tall man said, who I now presumed was called Sherlock. Surprisingly he let go of my wrists and walked to stand in front of me, blood starting to leak from where I hit him with the soup can.

"Sorry I hit you with the can, but I needed a distraction," I said sarcastically.

"Now now, is that how you treat the people who are trying to help you?" the man presumably called Sherlock said. Needless to say I was slightly taken aback by this.

"Help me? Why the hell would you two be helping me?" I questioned, taking a small step back. The smaller man, presumably called John, went to say something, but Sherlock stopped him.

"Yes, help you. You've been running from the police for at least six months now, quite a feat even if they are all idiot baboons," he said, taking a step closer. "Lestrade asked me to look into your case after they were having no luck since you ran away from the care home."

"How do you know that? You don't look like a police officer," I asked.

"No, I'm not a police officer, but I do know all about you, Lana Frey. You're fifteen, you ran away from Saint Mary's children's care home six months and two weeks ago, and you've been stealing in order to survive ever since. You're smart, fast, and with a fair amount of strength, and you've been evading the forces and Scotland Yard for the entire time."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and this is my friend John Watson. I am also your ticket off the streets and into a police cell, care to join me?"


	2. Chapter 2

I sat in the police cell, cursing Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I'd spent the night there, half asleep on the weird mattress, trying to think how I had been outsmarted. I'd tried to make another run for it, but had once again been caught, and this time handcuffed. Soon I was down at a station, my prints being taken, and I was thrown in the cell till morning. They'd even taken the chocolate bar off me.

The latch on the steel door was slid away, and in stepped a man in a black coat who was tall-ish, with greying hair. Two officers were behind him. "Lana Frey, I'm DI Lestrade from Scotland Yard and I'm here to release you."

"What? A bit of a wasted effort to get me here then," I said, surprised.

"Do you want out of this cell or not?" Lestrade asked me, sounding like he wasn't in the mood for my attitude.

"Yeah, just a little bit confused."

I was lead to the front desk where forms were signed, and I was once again handcuffed. "Is that really necessary?" I sighed as I was put into the back of a car. "It doesn't seem as you're releasing me, more moving me to a different location."

"They said you were clever," Lestrade mumbled, and proceeded to drive. There was a thin metal mesh barrier between the front and the back seats, telling me that this was a police car, but used for undercover work or when attention wasn't needed, due to the lack of police colours on the outside. Sighing once more, I propped my feet up on the seats, relaxed and stretched my arms. The look on Lestrades face when he saw my now free hands was brilliant.

"How the hell did you get them off?" he said as I dangled the unbroken cuffs for him to see in the rear-view mirror.

"A magician never reveals her tricks, it takes all the fun away," I grinned. I truth I had simply learnt that if you gave the cuff a slight nudge the mechanism inside would unlock them, but I wasn't going to tell him that and stop my fun. "Don't worry, I'm not mad enough to jump out a moving care, and I'm interested in wherever you're taking me, so I wont put up a fight. Tell me, where _are_ you taking me exactly?"

"Scotland Yard, if you really want to know," he said, slightly annoyed which amused me.

"Scotland Yard, huh? Hmm, bit extreme for a food and a few gas cylinders, I'd think," I mused, the smug grin still on my face.

"I'm not taking you there because of your stealing, if fact you're records been wiped," The detective inspector said. "You're going to take a few tests, then we'll talk."

"Tests? I'm not crazy you know, I just couldn't stand living in that dump any more. I was either in there for the rest of my life, or the streets, and I chose the streets. Much less stress, surprisingly."

"Not that kind of test okay, now shut up or the cuffs go back on," Lestrade sighed, his patience wearing thin, and I decided to be nice and stop talking, as he had apparently cleared my record.

We got to Scotland Yard in just under half an hour, and once in there more security checks were done to me. My prints were taken yet again, as was a hair sample, I had to answer a bunch of basic questiones and I was searched for any weapons. It all seemed a bit over the top in my opinion, but I just let them get on with it. Soon I was sitting in a white room with a table in the middle, me sitting on one side and Lestrade on the other.

"So tell me, why exactly am I here with a now clean record?" I asked, arms folded.

"Yes I'd like to know the same thing," someone said as they entered the room. It was Sherlock Holmes again, along with John Watson. I could see a small scab that had formed where I'd hit him with the can, and smiled. "And why did you call us here to question this girl?"

"You're not here to question me, and I'm not 'this girl'. You know my name, It'd be nice of you to use it," I told him. He looked surprised for a second when Lestrade confirmed my deduction that he wasn't here to question me.

"Why exactly is Lana, along with John and I, here then?" Sherlock asked, sighing.

"All will be explained once she takes the tests, now you two get out, I think she needs some peace and quiet," Lestrade ordered them, and they both reluctantly obliged. When they were gone, he turned to face me. "How did you know they weren't here to question you?"

"Well, you said I was to take some tests while we were in the car, and last night when those two arrested me Mr Holmes proclaimed to be a consulting detective," I explained. "I've never heard of the job even existing before, I still don't think it does, but I easily understand what it means. Judging by that and the way he addressed you when he came in leads me to presume that you're not his superior, as no man in his right mind would ever talk that way to the person in charge of them at Scotland yard, and by the fact that you have the power to wipe my record I'm lead to believe you're pretty important here. Put all that together, and I know that you're high up in Scotland Yard, you call for Sherlock and his friend whenever you need something done when the idiot police force can't do it themselves, and he was not here to question me."

The look on his face was priceless.

"Just do these tests okay," he said, handing me a booklet of paper and a pen. "You've got two hours, I'll leave you alone." He left the room in a slight state of surprise, and I chuckled to myself as I took the pen and opened the booklet to the first page.

* * *

When Lestrade re-entered two hours later I was sitting with my feet up on the table, throwing paper aeroplanes around made from the spare pages of the booklet. "Have you even done anything?" he asked.

"I finished it an hour ago, I've been bored ever since," I sighed, throwing another paper plane that narrowly missed his head.

"An hour ag- fine, give it here," he said as I handed over the booklet and pen. He looked at me suspiciously, left the room, and re-appeared about twenty five minutes later, a grin on his face. "I thought as much."

"What, that your IQ test revealed that I'm extremely intelligent for a fifteen year old? I could have told you that myself," I shrugged.

"Yes, but I've had people looking into your background," he said, sitting down. "You're not just intelligent, you're crafty as well. You can deduct things from your surroundings."

"It's not a particularly hard thing to do, I don't get why more people find it difficult."

"Yes but- never mind, just come on. We've got introductions to make."

I was lead through more corridors, people glancing at me as I went, until we reached a large office where John Watson and Sherlock Holmes sat talking. As I entered the latter looked at me, as if scanning me, and then turned back to John.

"Gentlemen, the results," Lestrade said, putting the booklet on the desk. Sherlock looked through it before giving it to John, and looked at the DI suspiciously.

"I have a deduction for why I'm here and for the first time in my life I'm hoping that I'm wrong," Sherlock said, looking at me again.

"Why are we here?" John asked Sherlock, but was ignored. "And what's this?"

"An IQ test John, do keep up," Sherlock said, "and do put my suspicions to rest Graham."

"Greg," Lestrade corrected with a sigh, "and this test confirms our suspicions. She's smart, very smart. She can deduct things like you Sherlock, you should have seen the explanation she gave me earlier."

"But she ran away from her care home, why have you cleared her record?" John asked.

"Well, that wasn't actually my idea, actually all of this was a tip off from someone," Lestrade admitted.

"Tip off from who?" asked Sherlock.

"Your brother."

"Ah, little surprise Mycroft had something to do with this," Sherlock sighed. "So what am I, John, and Lana doing here?"

Lestrade looked to me as I stood there observing the conversation. "We knew she was clever, well your bother knew, but he wants you to take her under your wing, train her to be your protoge."

"What? Doesn't he know it's bad enough with one Sherlock? And why would be need a protoge?" John said, shocked. Sherlock said nothing.

"Well he thinks she'll be good to have around for when, you know, Sherlock isn't any more," Lestrade admitted.

"So I'm to be trained to be his replacement, like a new puppy for a kid when an old dog dies?" I said, disgusted.

"No, well yes but- no!" Lestrade tried to answer.

"Absolutely not," Sherlock said, standing up. "I've got enough work as it is and I don't plan on dying any time soon. Now come on John, we need to finish that case with the fox in the dress."

"Sherlock please," Lestrade said, pulling him aside. "She's got nowhere to go except back at the home, and she'll just run away again. She's a troubled kid, and I think you can help her. You think like her, talk like her."

Sherlock looked once again to me, scanning me. I presumed he was deducing from the way his eyes flitted all over. He leaned down slightly.

"You're smart, quite fast too, but not the best fighter. You've lived in a care home all your life after being abandoned by your parents and you have no family and very little friends," he started. "You feel neglected in the care home because you're often rejected by potential foster parents and you isolate yourself a lot because you feel that it will protect you from hurt. You ran away after a failed meeting with some foster parents because you thought that nobody would notice or miss you if you left and you've evaded the police ever since."

"Sherlock," John sighed, looking apologetically at me. His words were true, and they cut deep, yet I was determined to hold my nerve against that man. So I took it upon myself to make my own deductions.

"You live alone, but you don't like the loneliness," I began, my voice devoid of any emotion. "You play the violin, I can tell by the wear on your shirts left shoulder, and you often drink tea. You don't own any pets, but you're fond of dogs because you petted one on the way here and the hairs are only on your sleeve. You can be quite erratic judging by your body movement and speech pattern, and you've know John Watson for at least three years. Oh, congratulations on the Wedding John; the ring is quite new and there is little marking on the skin."

Sherlock stepped back, once again silent. John looked to Lestrade, as if asking if that had just happened, and I smirked at the consulting detective. He looked over me once more before looking to Lestrade and saying "Send her round tomorrow."

The two of them walked out the door, Sherlock saying nothing and John giving me a kind nod, and Lestrade looked at me sympathetically.

"Sorry you had to go through that kid, he's like that sometimes," he said.

"It's fine, so am I," I said, sitting in one of the now empty chairs. "Thanks for asking me all about this by the way. What if I don't want to be carted off to be mentored by some sociopath?"

"How do you know he's a sociopath?"

"I make good guesses."

"Hmpf. And yeah, sorry about that. I would have asked you to be honest, but Mycroft assured me you'd agree."

"Who is this Mycroft anyway? I mean, I know he's Sherlock's brother, but if he can access all my information then he must be pretty powerful. Government?"

"Right again kid," he nodded. "Yeah, apparently he basically _is_ the government, but I don't know much else. And was he right?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you going to agree?"

"I may as well," I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. "I've got nothing better to do. It'd either be back to the home or the Shack and something tells me you're not going to let me continue to live on the streets."

"You're a good kid, I can tell, and life hasn't treated you well. Sherlock Holmes is one of the most annoying bastards I've ever met, but he's also one of the smartest, and life hasn't treated him too well either. Take his personality with a pinch of salt."

"Thanks for the advice," I said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," Lestrade replied with the same tone. "Now come on, you've got accommodation here for the night and I'll take you over to Baker Street tomorrow."

"Baker Street?"

"Yeah, that place could possibly be your new home soon. I wish you the best of luck."


	3. Chapter 3

"Wakey wakey," I heard Lestrade hammer at the door of the small room. I was pretty sure it was normally used for detainment of suspects, but for that night it served as a bedroom. I groaned a reply, to which I heard a soft chuckle, and he said "breakfast in my office in fifteen minutes."

I stumbled out of the single bed to the small sink by the door and looked in the mirror. Messy brown hair was all over the place, while the blue eyes that looked back at me had bags under them, due to restless nights on the streets. I guess it wasn't all that easy.

When I reached Lestrade's office I couldn't help but smile at the effort he had made. He was sitting with his own bowl of cereal, while milk, bowls, toast, jam, butter, tea, and all sorts lay on the table. He gestured for me to help myself with his spoon hand, and I gladly accepted. Taking four slices of toast from the rack and spreading butter and jam on them, I eagerly bit in, realising it had been months since I'd had a breakfast like that. He saw my reaction and laughed.

"I thought you'd like it," he said. "Think of it as an apology for carting you off to a sociopath."

"Your apology is gladly accepted," I told him, taking another bite. "And thanks, you're probably the nicest person in the force that I've met."

"No problem. You'll have Mrs Hudson to take care of you at Baker Street, but don't expect much cleanliness from Sherlock."

"Mrs Hudson?"

"The landlord, a really sweet old lady. She knows Sherlock better than most people."

"Apart from John I presume."

"Yeah, apart from John. And you were right about the marriage by the way, god that was an eventful day."

"John's not a detective too, is he? He doesn't look like a detective."

"Nah, he's an ex-army doctor, honourable discharge. Ended up getting a flat share with Sherlock and within that same day they were solving crimes together."

"But he ended up getting married, and Sherlock now lives alone?"

"Yeah, Sherlock... fell off the radar, so to speak. He basically faked his own death for two years and then re-appeared."

"Oh he's _that_ detective, I remember seeing a few things about him on the news. He's the one with the Deerstalker, isn't he?"

Lestrade laughed at that. "Yeah, that's him. Like I said, he's an annoying bastard, but a genius bastard all the same."

"I quite agree," another voice said, entering the office. He stood in the doorway, looking quite formal in his waistcoat while leaning on his umbrella. He outstretched his hand to shake my own. "Lana Frey, I presume. Mycroft Holmes, it's a pleasure."

I shook his hand. "Em, hey. So I hear this was all your idea?"

"Yes. I have known about your talents for quite a while now."

"That creepy, but thanks, glad to know I was being stalked by the British government."

Mycroft looked at me, the same way Sherlock did when he deduced me, and I sighed. "Don't bother," I said, "your brother already impressed me with his skill."

"He does like to show off, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he's also a bit rude. At least you seem to have manners. Thanks for cleaning my record with you're high-up-in-the-goverment powers."

"My pleasure. I heard you hit my brother on the head with a soup can."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"No need to apologise, I find it quite amusing actually."

I chuckled, as did he, and I decided that I liked him. He looked towards the breakfast. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Nah, just breakfast. You want a cup of tea?" Lestrade offered him.

"No thank you, I'm here to take Lana to Baker Street."

"Already? Okay, just lemme grab a drink first," I said, chugging down a glass of milk and grabbing the last slice of toast. Mycroft walked out, signalling for me to follow him, and I turned back to Lestrade. "Thanks again, and I'll no doubt see you around."

"Bye, and good luck!" he called to me as I left.

I was lead of of the building by Mycroft, who took me to a large black car. Opening the door for me like a gentleman, I got in and saw it was actually quite spacious, with seats on both sides. I sat on one side, and Mycroft sat on the other, giving the glass barrier that divided the back from the front seats a tap. The car began to drive.

"Miss Frey, I must apologise for the way you were brought into all this," Mycroft said. "Having to live with my brother is something I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemies, but I believe that he can help you harness your intelligence to the highest of levels."

"Yeah, about that, why am I being trained to be his replacement?"

"Not his replacement, simply another mind that could help us."

"Look, you seem nice and all, and I appreciate the fact that you didn't just handcuff me and drop me off at your brothers, but I'm not going to be some sort of secret weapon the British government uses to get intel," I told him, making myself clear. "I'm all up for being able to use my smarts more effectively, but what I do, I do of my own accord, okay? The British government, or anybody else for that matter, does not own me."

"Of course," he nodded, seemingly a little frustrated, but polite nonetheless.

"Thank you," I nodded back, glad we had an understanding. "So tell me, if I'm going to be living with Sherlock Holmes, am I going to have to be adopted by him or something? I mean, for legal reasons and such."

"Hmm, possibly, but it is still not certain if you will be staying with him, as we have no idea how things will work out," he thought. "However, adoption probably wont be necessary."

"Good," I mumbled, and then in a normal tone, "and what if we don't get along? Will I be put back to the home?"

"No, that would be a waste of your talents my dear child," he smiled, unnerving me a little. "You would possibly be tutored by me but-"

"You don't really want to take a kid into your care, I get it," I shrugged, having seen the same look on the faces of foster parents. "I'm guessing you're not much of a people person, meaning you prefer to isolate yourself a bit. So you're kind of an introvert?"

"I suppose you could say that," he agreed, a little impressed with my deductions. I smiled.

"So tell me, Mr Holmes, is your brother really as bad as you're making him out to be, or is it just because you had to grow up with him?"

"Mostly the latter I suppose, but he can be a bit challenging at times. I never will know why John Watson decided to live with him."

"Hmm, sounds like my life is going to be interesting," I thought. "I don't suppose you could do me a favour?"

"That depends what it is."

"If Sherlock's going to be rude to me for the first few days at least, do you have anything I can use against him? You know, embarrassing childhood stories of him eating dirt or something?"

Mycroft chuckled. "You are ruthless, aren't you? Well, I suppose I could tell you a few tales, purely for your survival of course and in no way to further embarrass my little brother."

"Mr Holmes," I said, grinning, "I think we'll get along nicely."

* * *

I arrived at Baker Street at ten o'clock, and Mycroft lead me out of the car and through the black door, while straightening the knocker that sat below the "221B". The driver followed us in with two large suitcases.

"Ah Mr Holmes, hello- oh, who's this?" an old lady said, walking out of a door at the end of the corridor. She held a pan and scrubber in her hand, and was wearing pink rubber gloves.

"Mrs Hudson, this is Lana Frey. She'll be staying with Sherlock for a while," he nodded politely, before leading me up the stairs. I gave her a quick wave as she began to get confused.

As we walked further up I began to hear a violin, and I smiled to myself as it confirmed one of my guesses from yesterday. Opening the door, I saw Sherlock Holmes standing by the window, pausing every few notes to write them down on a song sheet. He was composing, it seemed.

"Hello Mycroft, hello Lana," he said, without even turning around. He continued to play.

"Sherlock, is this how you treat your guests? Put that blasted violin down and come say hello," Mycroft gritted.

"Miss Frey and I have already met, but if you insist," Sherlock said, turning to face us and taking the instrument off his shoulder, placing it down on a cluttered table. "Hello, lovely to see you again, hope you don't have any soup cans with you."

"Unfortunately not, but I can see one in the kitchen from here," I said back, smiling deviously. Sherlock looked to Mycroft and then back to me.

"Her things are in these bags, I'll have them put in the spare room," Mycroft said, ordering the driver. I had no idea exactly what was in those bags, but I doubted it was any of my old stuff as none of it was of any worth. "Now, I have a meeting to get to, so I shall leave you two to get acquainted. Play nice, brother dear, and do be kind."

He left with a nod to me and a small grin, reminding me to use those stories he'd told me, and I gave a small wave as he left. There was silence in the flat until Sherlock picked up the violin once more and began playing. Shrugging, I walked around the living room, looking at the items scattered around. Behind the sofa there were maps, pictures, reports and all sorts stuck to the wall, presumably for a new case, and I glanced over it all. Something about a vandal and an art thief.

I walked around the rest of the room, coming to a skull that sat on the mantelpiece, and brought it over to the sofa where I flopped down and started fiddling with it.

"Put the skull back," Sherlock said, still not even turning to look at me. I did as he asked me, glaring at him all the while.

"So, what's this even going to include, you 'taking me under your wing'?" I asked.

"I have absolutely no idea. You're staying here for the next few days to see if we get along," he explained. "If I decide to let you stay, then you stay. If not I presume you'll be given to Mycroft, but to stay with my brother sounds terrible."

"Mycroft said the exact same thing," I told him, sitting back down on the sofa. "Look, I know you're probably not too happy about me being dumped in your care, but it's happened so we may as well get on with it and at least try to tolerate each other." He turned to face me.

"Your room is the room on the left, you stay out of mine, you don't touch any of my work for cases, and any body parts you find are to be left where they are," he said, laying down the rules. I nodded.

"Fine with me," I shrugged. "Also, if you are out on a case, I presume I'll just be on my own in the flat."

"No, you'll be with John and I," he said, sitting down in one of the chairs. "I don't trust you to be left here alone."

"So I'll be with you? Does this mean I get to see gruesome injuries and deaths that could possibly leave me scarred for the rest of my life?"

"Possibly."

"I can't wait."

* * *

I sat in my room, unpacking the two bags that sat there. The room was a nice size, with a double bed and a wardrobe, and surprisingly spacious. So far I had found a laptop, a phone, a bunch of clothes and shoes, toiletries, pyjamas and books. Everything looked brand-new, and the laptop and phone were pretty high-tech. I'd have to thank Mycroft for them later. I was starting to put things back into the suitcases after getting changed into something a bit cleaner – no point in putting things in the wardrobe if it wasn't certain that I'd be living there yet – when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," I told them, and in walked John Watson.

"Ah, hello Lana," he said, nodding to me. "I'm John Watson, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you to," I said, shaking his hand. "Sorry I kind of ran away from you two the other night."

"If I had seen two strange men running after me I would have done the same thing," he said. "Em, oh yeah, Sherlock and I are going out to look at a murder case, he says you have to come with us."

"Tell him I'll be ready in five minutes," I told him, and he nodded and left. Looking for the coat I had seen, I grabbed it and put it on, shoving the phone in my pocket. When I walked into the hallway the two of them were waiting for me.

"Okay, lets go see a murder," I said cheerily, walking down the stairs and out the door, the two of them behind me.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock had hailed a taxi, and soon we were met with police tape and officers.

"Sherlock!" I heard Lestrade call from a house doorway. He jogged over to meet us, ensuring the officer that we could all come through. He turned to me. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you this soon."

"Well, you just can't get rid of me that easily," I smiled, stepping under the tape. Sherlock and John followed. "So, what kind of murder is it?"

"Em, just a murder I guess, we don't know yet, that's why I asked Sherlock to come and have a look."

"Yes the police force are surprisingly bad at doing their own job," Sherlock said, and he and Lestrade started walking off, talking about the crime scene. John and I followed.

"Em, Lana, are you okay with all this?" he asked.

"Hmm? What, a murder? Yeah, don't worry I'm not squeamish," I said.

"No, I mean about living with Sherlock. I know he can be a right dickhead at times."

"Yeah, I was warned about that," chuckled. "And I suppose so. I told his brother that I'm not going to be owned by the government and used whenever they want, so really they're just giving me a place to live and free food. Pretty good in my opinion."

John gave a small smile, before chuckling. "So you met Mycroft then?

"Yeah, seems pretty nice actually, has more manners than him," I said, pointing to Sherlock.

"Yeah, but don't under estimate him, he can be ruthless. He has the power to get somebody arrested, drugged, and dumped on a desert island if he wanted to."

"Well, I'll just remember to stay on his good side then."

John nodded as we caught up with the other two, Lestrade leading us into the house. "Is she allowed in here?" he asked, looking at me.

"Well if I'm going to be his replacement I suppose I'll need to get used to dead bodies, so I may as well," I suggested. He looked to Sherlock, who nodded, and lead us up the stairs into a bland, fading room. In the middle of said room sat a woman, young, with nice blonde hair. She was dead of course, but she looked like she'd just fallen asleep in front of the tv, as she was in an armchair, with two pools of blood on the ground at either side. It was weird, seeing someone there, lifeless. It was as if they were simply captured in a moment of time that they couldn't get out. I felt weird, not a bad weird but not a good weird either. It was perplexing. John must have noticed, because he gave me a soft nudge with his elbow.

"You okay?" he asked quietly while Sherlock began to look over the body.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine." I nodded. Sherlock called him over, and I decided to just stay out of the way. The phone in my pocket gave off a small buzz, surprising me by saying that I had a text.

**How's the murder investigation going? - MH**

Of course Mycroft would have this number.

**That's creepy.**

How the hell did he know I was at a murder scene?

**No my dear, I just have many little birds that tell me secrets – MH**

**Again, that's really creepy. But it's going fine, John's nice. Oh, thanks for the laptop and the phone and everything else by the way.**

**No problem my dear. I put in a few books I thought you might like, as I know you'll need some sort of distraction from my brothers annoying ways at some point – MH**

**Yeah, they look pretty good. Thanks again. I haven't had to use those stories yet, much to my disappointment.**

**Don't worry, if I know Sherlock then I know it wont be long before he gives you a good reason to use one. Now run along, lots of murders to be solved – MH**

**Again, creepy.**

I put the phone away as Sherlock was turning to look at me. I walked towards the body, getting better view of it, and asked what they knew already.

"She's from Bristol, here on a business trip," he announced, looking at something on his phone. "She's only been in London for a few hours judging by her hair. The case is in the corner of the room, meaning the killer didn't want this to lead to anything."

"They obviously want to leave a message though, after all why go through all the effort for the set-up? It looks like they wanted to catch your attention, and just picked a random victim off the street," I suggested. Sherlock almost looked impressed. Almost.

"Yes, well that leads me to believe that whoever did this will do it again," he said, "but whoever it was is very thorough. Nothing yet that I can see would link back to them. It seems we may have a waiting game."

"What?" I asked, slightly disgusted. "You're just going to wait for someone else to die?"

"Yes."

I let out a loud sigh, pressed my hand to my forehead and realised what Mycroft was talking about. Lestrade spoke up in my defence. "She has a point Sherlock, we can't just wait around for this to happen again. We'll take her to Barts and get tests done, and we'll see from there."

"No point, this killer is obviously a professional, they've done this before and will do it many times again," Sherlock mumbled. I had half a mind to slap him.

"Then you find them before they do it," I told him, before sighing once more. I left the room as they began to move the body, walking outside and into the fresh air. John followed.

"He's a bit tough to handle, but you get used to it," he assured me.

"Doesn't he have any sense of compassion whatsoever?"

"It may not seem like it, but yes. He was the best man at my wedding, and god you should have seen the speech."

"Huh, I remain unconvinced," I mumbled. Soon Sherlock had left the building and stood next to us.

"Come on John, lets get back to the flat. There's nothing else we can do here," he said, looking to hail a cab once more.

"That's it? We came all the way here just for you to look at the body and then decide to wait for the next one to appear?" I asked.

"Yes, now come on or you're walking back," he threatened, and I decided that I would need those books later.

* * *

**Your brother such a dick, how did you survive 15+ years of him?**

**Patience, self restraint, and duct tape – MH**

**Ah, thanks for the idea. But we were at the murder scene and he just goes "we'll just wait for the next body", and I was incredibly close to slapping him. **

**Go ahead, it'll be amusing – MH**

**He's sitting there in his chair looking all pompous and you have no idea how tempted I am.**

**Yes he likes to think of himself of above all others – MH**

**No offence but from what I've heard I think that's the pot calling the kettle black.**

**Yes, but the difference it that I am above all others, he simply thinks he is – MH**

**Oh well aren't you just humble. **

**More than my dear brother is. Once when he was little he claimed he had invented the sun – MH**

My sniggering caught Sherlock's attention, and he rolled his eyes. "If you're texting Mycroft you could at least be a little more discreet about it. And what is he telling you about?"

"Oh, nothing, just some little tid-bits," I grinned, adding that little fact to the stockpile of information I could use against him. I should have just ask Mycroft for a whole file. He scowled at that.

"If you're not going to do anything useful for the case then you may as well do the dishes," he said, turning a page in his newspaper.

"Excuse me? I though you were the detective here, not me."

"Yes but apparently you're very smart, so prove it."

I groaned as I sat up on the sofa, forgetting to reply to the last text. I left the living room and returned a minute later, booting up the laptop. Sherlock eyed me in suspicion.

"What are you doing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Research, you know, so I can maybe help a bit. I'm here for three days, I want to be a little be helpful."

"Hmm," he mumbled, and returned to his paper as I started to look up facts on body decay. Within half an hour I had a word document open, listing everything I could remember about the scene.

"Sherlock," I asked, "how can you tell if something is the start of a string of killings? I mean, this one obviously is, but what about on other occasions?"

He looked up from his own laptop that now sat on his lap, as if surprised by my interest. "Well, there is usually no specific link between the victim and the murdered, as serial killers tend to pick their prey off the streets at random. Also, if done well enough, there is no traces that could lead to any other victim, and there is usually a type of presentation left for the police."

"Interesting.." I mumbled, typing away more information to keep for later. He looked over again.

"Got anything?" he asked, seeming genuinely curious, which surprised me.

"Well, like you said, whoever did this was a professional, but the whole thing was very clean, making me think that it might have been a team of murderers, all employed by the same person," I suggested, shrugging.

"That was something I'd thought over, but we're unable to tell with just one crime scene," he confirmed. "Anything else?"

"Well we haven't got much else to go on yet until the post mortem, as then we'll know how she died," I said, "But I'm presuming this was aimed for you."

"What?"

"Yeah, isn't it obvious? They made it so they'd have to bring you in, so that you'd have to see it. This message wasn't for the police force, this was for you."

Sherlock looked abruptly into space, his mind running through something behind those clever eyes of his. He then shot up from his seat.

"John!" he called, to which I sighed.

"John left two hours ago you idiot," I told him.

"Then come on, we need to get to Barts right away," he said, running to get his coat. I groaned as I shut the laptop and grabbed my coat off the arm of the chair where I'd left it and called after him.

"It's ten o'clock, the morgue will be closed," I told him.

"I have a friend that can help us out."

* * *

"Molly Hooper, Lana Frey," Sherlock said as he introduced us. I smiled at Molly, she seemed really nice, and she asked why I was with him. "Lana is on a three day trial to see if she can be mentored to be a replacement for me."

Molly looked a little shocked, but said a hello nonetheless. "Oh, well uh, hello," she said, slightly confused, before turning to Sherlock. "The tests on the body are nearly done, you'll get the results in about ten minutes."

"Thank you Molly," Sherlock nodded, being more polite that I'd expect. She floated away, dealing with some other paperwork she had to do, and Sherlock and I stood in silence before I spoke up.

"Are you and Molly, you know?" I asked, curious.

"What? No, she is simply a friend," he confirmed, giving a curt nod. I snorted a laugh.

"Sure, if you say so," I chuckled, walking through to talk to my new acquaintance. "So, Molly, hello."

"Oh, hi," she said, looking up from her paper work. "So, Sherlock said you're staying with him?"

"Yeah, Mycroft's idea. Basically he thinks Sherlock can help me utilise my skills," I explained. She looked slightly worried.

"I wouldn't exactly trust Sherlock to take care of anyone, but I presume you can take care of yourself. You're what, sixteen?"

"Fifteen, sixteen in May," I said. "And yeah, he's a pain, but it's either that or back to the home, so I'm willing to put up with it."

"You must be one of a kind then, if you're willing to put up with Sherlock Holmes," she smiled, and I smiled back. Something beeped. "Oh, tests are already done. Go get him."

"What've you got?" Sherlock asked, entering the room in his typical, show-off fashion. I rolled my eyes.

"Well, there's traces of salt, grease, and fish under her fingernails," Molly said, "and she was eating at least ten minutes before she was killed."

"So she must have gotten off the train, headed straight to a chipper and gotten killed not long after," Sherlock said. I spoke up.

"If we can get the time she got off the train, coupled with the time she was killed and the chip shops around the area, we can figure out where she went," I said."

"Correct," Sherlock nodded. "Molly, what's the estimated time of death?"

"About six o'clock," she told him.

"Train would have got into London at," he said, typing away on his phone, " five forty. She must have gotten there within ten minutes, so that means there's only about five or six shops that close. You hungry Lana?"

"Starving," I said as he ran off. I said a quick thanks to Molly and dashed off, tailing after Sherlock. When I got outside he was hailing a cab. "Can you at least thank Molly next time?"

"Why? I don't need to do it, you did."

"How did you- never mind. There's a cab."

We got in and he directed it to the train station closest to where she was killed, and we started our search. The first shop had nothing on the woman, but I bought a cheeseburger once I realised I was actually pretty hungry. I did offer a few chips to Sherlock, but he assured me that he wasn't hungry. The second shop however, had something for us. We talked to the owner and showed him a picture of the victim, and he confirmed that he remembered serving her.

"Yeah, she came in and bought some fish and chips," the man said.

"Tell me, does this place have CCTV?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, would you like to see?"

"Yes I would."

We were lead through to the back of the shop, and the owner rewound the CCTV tape to earlier that day, at five fifty. Sure enough the woman was there, standing outside the shop eating her food. Two men walked up to her, and one suddenly pressed something to her back. My gut feeling was that it was a gun, and from the look on his face Sherlock agreed. A car pulled up and one of the men opened the car door. She got in, obviously not of her own will, and the car drove away. Sherlock stood back from the screen, considering all the evidence he'd put together. He stood there for a few minutes, the cogs in his head obviously turning, until he looked at he and proclaimed we needed to go see Molly again. I sighed and followed him out the door, once again thanking someone for him.

Back at Bart's we stood around the corpse, Molly checking her arms and neck for needle marks. Sure enough she found a small puncture mark on the back of her neck, confirming Sherlock's suspicions.

"She was given a drug, that's how she was killed. Was there no trace of it in her system?"

"None, it either left or is untraceable," Molly told him.

"Hmm, well we wont get any more out of her. Come on Lana, it's late and we'd better get back to Baker Street before Mrs Hudson gets worried," Sherlock sighed, clearly annoyed that he hadn't gotten any further. He was about to leave before I stood on his foot and gave him a look. "Oh, and thank you Molly."

Smiling, I waved a goodbye to Molly Hooper and followed Sherlock out on the way back home.

* * *

The next day, Saturday, I awoke late in the morning due to my fondness for long lie ins. When I walked through to the living room with messy hair and a dressing gown I'd found within the clothes I instantly went red as John and Lestrade were there too.

"Glad somebody's up," Lestrade laughed, to which I went red even more. I retreated to the kitchen to get myself a drink, but when I opened the fridge I was met with a plate full of fingers and that ruined my appetite.

"Why are you two here?" I asked them as I collapsed on the sofa.

"There's been another case, we think by the same person," John said. "Lestrade wants us to go investigate."

"Does this mean I have to go get dressed?" I sighed.

"Yes, and be quick about it," Sherlock ordered.

"Yes sir!" I said, giving him a mock salute and the middle finger, before walking out of the room as John and Lestrade started laughing. I got dressed fairly quickly, not bothering to put on anything too special, and was nearly knocked over by Sherlock as I exited my room.

"What the hell!" I called after him as he ran down the stairs, his coat billowing.

"The game Lana!" he called, "The game is on!"


	5. Chapter 5

When we arrived at the crime scene I was a little surprised at the killers choice of location. It was a primary school, quite small, but fairly new. We were shown inside, where another body had been set up. This one was male, shaven hair, and was sitting at one of the desks in front of the whiteboard. There was a pencil in his hand, and a piece of paper in front of him. I looked at what it read and my stomach turned.

"Hello Sherlock," I read, Sherlock looking rather worried. "So, I was right. This is for you."

"It seems so. Last time I had an admirer it didn't end well," Sherlock said, and John went pale.

"You don't think it's him, do you?" the doctor asked.

"No, we haven't heard anything since after the broadcast, and we decided that it was just a paperchase," Sherlock shook his head. I didn't know who they were talking about, but from the looks of it I decided it best not to ask.

"So if this was for you, they're obviously keeping an eye on your activities," I mumbled, getting slightly worried that if they were watching him, they were watching me. Both her and John were looking over the body.

"Signs of struggle, meaning this one was more reluctant that the last. He's in his late twenties, a smoker, drives a small car, a London liver this time," Sherlock deduced, pulling out his small magnifying glass he used, the one that slid open and shut. "He looks like he's been here since last night, the signs of decay are starting to show; purpling of the skin, the distinct rotting smell."

"Yeah, the weekend cleaners came in here to sort things out for the school show on Monday and found him there," Lestrade informed. "So where're they likely to kill next?"

"They're getting more risky, more cocky," John said. "First an empty house, now a school, it'll be somewhere bigger next."

"Yes, it does appear they're trying to catch the media's attention and not just ours. Lestrade, make sure nobody gets in or out of these crime scenes if they aren't Scotland Yard. I don't want reporters sniffing around," Sherlock commanded.

"You do realise you're not Scotland Yard either, right?" I sighed, and John looked slightly amused. Sherlock shot me a look and continued to give orders, despite being in no position to give them.

"See if they can get this paper and ink traced, and get his body to Barts as soon as you can to check for signs of needle marks and drugs on him," he rattled on, "And find out how exactly he died. There was no blood here, meaning if the killer did it in the other scene it was just for show. Neither of these people died from blood lost or injury of any kind."

The people ran around following his orders, and we backed off as they took the body away. I sighed as Sherlock told John and I to follow him, and soon we were at Barts with Molly, looking over the body and checking his system.

"I've found something, looks like phenazepam, but it can't actually be phenazepam as if it was it would have left much stronger traces in the body," Molly said, looking into a microscope.

"They use it to make drugs for killing yourself, don't they?" I asked, vaguely remembering bits from here and there. "They're mainly produced in Russia."

"Yes, but this is different, its been altered to leave the system and kill much quicker than normal. This is most likely an illegal strain of the drug." Molly sat up from her chair and let Sherlock have a look.

"Yes, it seems you're right," he mumbled quietly. "This would be very expensive though, so whoever is playing this little game is certainly well financed."

"He can afford to buy expensive drugs and hire people to kill strangers off the street," John warned. "He's going to get bigger and bigger, until he's gotten so big we can't stop him."

"Why him? How do you know it's a male we're after?" I questioned.

"Statistically more common," Sherlock answered, not even looking up from the microscope. The urge to hit his cocky face was growing ever stronger.

"Fine, but don't rule out the chance of it being a woman," I grumbled. "So this drug, it suddenly stops the heart, right?"

"Yes, and it's very very effective," Molly nodded. "Get Greg to find out if Scotland Yard knows of anywhere this stuff could be bought from."

John went off to phone Lestrade while I was looking through the results from the paper and ink, and much to my dismay we got nothing out of them. It was plain printer paper, as well as plain printer ink, a brand that could be bought from any number of stores in London. I kicked a chair in frustration, and Sherlock chuckled.

"Getting fed up, are we?" He mocked.

"No, I'm just annoyed that we only have one potential lead, and even that's a long shot. Even if Scotland Yard did know where someone could buy those kind of drugs, it's a shot in the dark if we're ever to trace them back to the buyer. Someone this careful is sure to cover their tracks."

"Unless they want them to be found, so the next round can proceed."

"Well I'm sorry Sherlock, but I don't consider peoples lives to be pieces that the players can just throw away as they like."

* * *

We were back in Baker Street, and Sherlock was getting more frustrated than I was. He was pacing back and forth, looking over and over again at the evidence that was pinned up onto the wall behind the sofa, saying nothing except occasionally growling in anger. I was sitting in his seat, typing away on the case file.

"This killer is smart," Sherlock said, breaking the silence. "He's playing with us, toying with us, and he knows there is not a single thing we can do about it except follow the trail of breadcrumbs he is leaving behind. This could be a distraction, anything to keep us off his scent, but whatever it is it is annoying!"

"Sherlock, can you shut up?" I gritted, "I'm trying to work on this case too, you know?"

"No Lana, I cannot, there is far to much to be angry about," Sherlock shouted back, and I could see John sighing. "We need to get to end of the breadcrumbs before the killer even leaves it. What would be the point of leaving the note? We already had presumptions that these murders were meant for my attention, so why go to the extra effort of leaving the note? It's untraceable, meaning he didn't leave it to lead up further, and there's no secret meaning behind it that I can see and – Ah!"

I jolted out of my seat as Sherlock's fist met the wall and went partially through. I presumed the wall wasn't stone, but it still looked like it hurt. He stood for a moment, looking at his knuckles as they began to bled, and then a few seconds later recoiled at the pain. He was clutching his hand and muttering curses under his breath when John put down his paper, took Sherlock to the kitchen, and sat him down while he cleaned the cuts. I couldn't help but laugh, Sherlock looked like a little kid who'd fallen over in the playground and was getting fixed up by the school nurse. Taking out my phone, I slyly snapped a picture of him, perfectly capturing Sherlock's grumpy expression, and instantly texted it to Mycroft.

**Look who had a tantrum :file attached:**

Within seconds I got a reply

**Oh my, looks like somebody's a bit grumpy today -MH**

**There was another case. I guess you already know that, but Sherlock's been getting frustrated because we've got nothing to lead us to the killer.**

**He never was one for waiting, he gets bored easily -MH**

**He shouldn't be waiting though, he should be out there finding this killer before someone else looses their life in this stupid game.**

**Hmm, I suppose you're right. Lana, would you care to join me for tea this afternoon? -MH**

I looked over to John and Sherlock arguing, the latter hissing as John cleaned his wounds with antiseptic.

**I would be delighted to accept the offer. I need to get out of the house to somewhere that isn't a crime scene.**

**Good. A car is waiting outside for you -MH**

I looked out the window and sure enough, there was a large black car parked outside Baker street. The word 'creepy' sprang to mind once again, but nonetheless I had accepted the offer, weird black car or not.

"John, Sherlock, I'm going out for a bit," I said, running to the hallway and grabbing my coat off the hook.

"Where?" Sherlock called through from the kitchen.

"Mycroft's," I yelled back, running down the stairs before they could stop me. I got out the door and stood in front of the black car, a woman waiting by its side.

"Hello Lana," She said. She was young, with straight brown hair, and constantly typing away on her phone. "Please, step in."

She put her phone away for a second as she opened the door to the surprisingly spacious car, and I got in with her sitting opposite, reminding me of my first drive to Baker Street. We sat in silence as the car began to drive, a little awkward at first, but then she spoke up.

"So, enjoying living with Sherlock?"

"Meh, he's a bit like a five year old with one of the best brains out there. But yeah, it's interesting."

"Yeah, that was expected. Mycroft is much the same."

"Isn't he your boss?"

"Yes, I suppose, but he doesn't need to know what I say," she smiled. "I'm Anthea."

"I'm Lana, but you already know that anyway. So, where _is _Mycroft's place?"

"Oh, somewhere in London, not too far. We're almost there actually."

"Weird, there's almost no traffic."

"Yes, that was intentional."

I was starting to like Mycroft more every day. As expected, we got there in record time. From what I could tell, there was a very important guest in London today, and the roads were closed off for their safety. _Yeah, VIP my ass Mycroft._

I was let out the car by Anthea, and I was let into the big white building and lead to an office. When I opened the door Mycroft was sitting at his desk, looking at papers. He must have been concentrating on something, as I stood in the door for at least a minute until he realised I was there.

"Ah, Lana. Do come in," he said, putting the papers down. I took the rather plush looking leather seat on the other side of the desk, and got myself comfy. "And how are we today?"

"Frustrated, tired, sore, a bit worried for the saftey of people in London, but fine apart from all that," I said as he poured some tea from a table by his side. I handed my a cup and saucer, and I accepted. I had never been a big fan of tea, but I took a sip and had to acknowledge that it must have been the really expensive kind, as I actually quite liked it. I took another sip and revelled in the taste of the brew and the feeling of the liquid sliding down my throat and the warmth it gave. "Also, your brother is certainly one of a kind."

"Yes, he certainly is. So, I take it the case isn't going too well?" Mycroft asked, taking a drink from his own cup. He took a plate in his other hand that was full of little cakes and biscuits and offered me it. I took a chocolate biscuit that looked rather nice. Turns out the biscuits must have been as expensive as the tea was. Only the best for the head of the government.

"You know the case isn't going too well," I said, dipping the biscuit into the tea, something Mycroft looked a bit bemused by. "But at least we've gotten a litter further, even if it is especially little."

"Indeed."

"But I've got to say, your Sherlock has a brilliant mind. Like, he can deduce so much more than I could ever think off. I mean, he is a dick, but to think that he could rule the world with his brain and instead he chooses to help people and the police in their cases is quite enduring actually. I guess he does care about people, he just doesn't show it."

"Caring is never an advantage," Mycroft said, rather coldly.

"Maybe, but he does care for some people, that much is obvious. He cares for John, for Mrs Hudson, for Molly, for Lestrade probably, and you."

Mycroft nearly choked on his tea. "Me? I'm sorry my dear, but I believe that you're wrong there."

"You're his brother, of course he cares for you. Siblings are just like that; they hate each others guts but love them to bits all the same. He just hides it very well, as do you."

"I can assure you that I do not care for Sherlock Holmes."

"Okay, if you say so," I said sarcastically. "But seriously, Sherlock is pretty impressive. I mean, when we were at the crime scene and I actually managed to help out a bit, and I put forward the whole idea of whoever is behind this being well funded and out to get Sherlock's attention, and then at Barts when I was talking about the drugs, and when-"

I was cut off by the look Mycroft was giving me. He was grinning silently, a glint in his eye. "What?" I asked. "What're you smiling at?"

"You, my dear," he said, sounding quite amused. "You're enjoying all this, aren't you? The crime solving, the hunting down of killers, the running around with my brother and all his little friends. You like it, you're having fun."

I didn't know quite what to say, as for a moment I believed him. I _had _been enjoying myself the past few days, and I found that rush of adrenaline that I craved was being sufficiently met. I looked back at Mycroft.

"I'm not enjoying it, I'm simply making the most of what I have," I lied.

"Okay, if you say so," Mycroft mocked, repeating my words. I couldn't help but laugh as I finished my tea, thinking on what he had said. Once our little meeting was over I was lead out again, where Anthea was waiting with another black car. She smiled, somehow knowing of the conversation that had occurred in that office.

The drive back to Baker Street was quiet. It was now getting dark, and a few street lights were on, illuminating the houses as we passed by them. Mycroft's words stayed with me the whole time. _You're enjoying all this, aren't you?_, he had said. _Was he right? Did I enjoy it, was this fun to me?_

Before I could contemplate any further I was snapped out of my own thoughts by my door opening and a blast of cold London air hitting me. I undid the seatbelt and stepped out, Anthea waving me a quick goodbye and leaving me on the steps of 221B. The sudden urge to run off again, to run back and make another shack and steal from shops and living on my own and evade police officers, it was pretty strong. But then I looked to the door, to the metal numbers, to the squint door knocker, and I knew I couldn't run off. I had a crime to solve.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the day, the last day. By the time nightfall came, I could either be staying with Sherlock or back to the home. No doubt I'd run away again, but knowing Mycroft he'd probably put more security on me. But would Sherlock want to keep me?

I didn't like his attitude toward the lives of others very much, but I had to admit to myself that I was getting a roof over my head, a warm bed, and all the necessities. Plus, solving crimes was kinda fun. As I awoke and headed through to the living room Mycroft's words still stuck in my skull. _You're enjoying all this, aren't you? _If only I could decide.

When I entered it was just Sherlock, lying on the sofa with his hands pressed to his chin. His eyes were closed, and I almost thought he was sleeping, before he spoke up.

"Good morning," he said, still not opening his eyes. He took one hand and pointed it to a tray, upon which sat a teapot and a few cups. I smiled.

"Thanks," I said, still half asleep, as I poured the hot beverage into the mug. It was still pretty warm, meaning it couldn't have been made too long ago.

"Don't thank me, thank Mrs Hudson. She always makes the morning tea."

"Oh," I said, taking a sip. I still appreciated it though. "I'm gonna go for a quick shower, you need into the bathroom before I do?"

"No," he said, rather matter-of-factly. His hand returned to the other, and he was back into his position.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Thinking, using my mind palace."

"Your what?"

"My mind palace. I'll explain some other time, now go and have a shower."

"Aye aye Keptin," I mumbled in a Russian accent, but I doubt he got the reference. I finished my tea in my room, while looking for clothes to wear. I presumed we'd be outside at some point, and it was looking pretty sunny, so I chose some knee-length shorts, an airy t-shirt and some converse. Happy with my selection, I headed for my shower.

The bathroom was probably the cleanest place in the whole flat. The first time I'd walked in I had been surprised to not find any severed body parts decaying in the bathtub. The shower was nice, the sensation of the hot water hitting my head and running down my back was something I'd missed while living on the streets. I used bottles of water to keep myself clean in the Shack, but nothing beat the feeling of a proper shower. My hair stuck to my back as I stepped out, dried myself off and dressed myself, but I tied it up into a bun as I had no motivation to blow dry it that morning. When I re-entered the living room, feeling refreshed, a man sat in a chair, talking to Sherlock. He was wringing his hands, indicating nervousness, and his voice was shaky.

"And they didn't take anythin', y'see," he was saying when I walked into the room. "Just left a note is all they did, that and break in. It's odd y'see, it was as if they had just walked in, easy as pie. No forced entry at all."

"What's happening?" I asked Sherlock as he looked at the man, analysing him.

"Lana, this is a client who has my newest case," he said, standing up. "Thank you Mr Conell, I'll be round soon."

"So you'll take the case? Thank you sir, and eh, ma'am," the man said, pleased. "I'll be on my way then. Goodbye Mister Holmes."

The man left without another word, and Sherlock was staring at a piece of paper in his hand. "A new case? But you've already got one, which you still haven't solved."

"Look at this," he said, ignoring my question. He extended his arm and handed me the piece of paper, and something in my stomach twanged. The word "Thanks" was typed across it, the same font as the note left for Sherlock at the school.

"It looks almost identical, so that's why you took the case?" I asked.

"Yes, precisely. An antiques shop was broken into on Thursday night, nothing taken or replaced, just the note left. Very odd indeed."

"So when are we going round?"

"Right now, so go and grab your coat."

* * *

We arrived at 'Conell's antiques and valuables emporium' in little under half an hour. Mr Conell welcomed us, saying that the police had already looked over the shop and found nothing, but he suspected that Sherlock would be able to uncover something. The shop was closed to the public for the day, so the owner left Sherlock and I to look around while he sorted out the payment for a new security system.

"It's a nice play, some expensive items in here. It's really odd that they didn't take anything," I said, picking up a vase and looking at it.

"Which is why we're here," Sherlock said. He was looking at the keyhole, shining a torch into it. "This lock has been expertly picked. The police wouldn't have noticed the signs, their far too dim witted, but there are only tiny scratches in places the couldn't have been caused by the key."

"So that's how they got it, but what about the sensors? They should have gone off as soon as the door opened," I said.

"Hacked into, most likely. I'll run a check of the system just to be sure, but I'm 99% sure it was hacked."

"So they disabled the alarm, expertly picked the lock, and didn't steal a thing. Seems like a wasted effort in my opinion."

"Look closer Lana, look at the shop. What do you see?" Sherlock said, standing up and facing me. I was a little put off by the thought of him testing me, but I looked around nonetheless.

"Well, it's well secured for a shop, due to the valuable antiques. It's small, and many of the items have dust on them, meaning it's not visited as often as the owner would like," I noted, walking around. I noticed a trinket box which had a lack of dusk where a hand had picked it up. "This item however, has been looked at. The dusk was gone, but it's started to build up again slightly, meaning this could have been picked up by our burglar."

"Nothing was touched the night of the break in, according to the police," Sherlock informed me.

"But then.. OH!" I said, the pieces finally slotting together in my head. "This was a practice, for the school! This box _was_ picked up by whoever broke in, but before the night. They came in here to make sure it had the conditions they needed, a good security system but a small shop that wouldn't make any headlines. They were testing the waters to make sure they could get into the school, set up the body, and get out without setting off any alarms or leaving any traces of themselves."

Sherlock gave a small smile for a split second, before returning his face to its normal look. "Hmm, very good. Yes, as you said this was a practice. They succeed both times as well."

"Whoever is doing this, I think it's some rich person hiring these professionals," I said. "One person can't get a body into a school and bypass the securities, nor can a group of novices. This is well paid, well experienced work. I'm worried that whoever is in charge here has enough money and power to make things a lot worse than they currently are."

"You're probably correct, this is most likely the work of someone with a lot of money. The problem is that money is an easy vale to hide behind, getting others to do the killing for you. Nothing leads back to you yourself."

We finished looking around and told the owner that we were leaving. We told him that we simply couldn't find anything, after Sherlock decided that it would be simpler to leave Mr Conell out of this. We were waiting for a taxi to appear when Sherlock's phone went off.

"Hello? Ah, hello Molly, what is it? Oh, great, thank you. Yes. Yes. No. Goodbye."

"What's Molly saying?"

"Lestrade has a list of possible suppliers for the drug that killed the two victims. We need to get over to Scotland Yard."

A taxi came around the corner at that very moment, Sherlock putting his arm out to get it to stop. We had a fairly long taxi ride to get through before we reached Scotland Yard, and it seemed that Sherlock wasn't willing to sit in silence.

"So Lana, tell me, do you remember anything about your biological parents?" he asked, rather abruptly. I was slightly shocked and more than a little annoyed that he just brought out a touchy subject without warning, but the question was asked and there was nothing I could do.

"A little. I remember having a brother, or a sister maybe, but I was just a baby so I can't tell," I admitted. "I also remember crying for my mother not to leave me, probably the day she left me at the home, but that's it."

I was determined to stay strong, not to break down into tears like I used to do whenever my past was mentioned. I had been 2 when I was left at the home, but I could still remember my own cries and pleads for her not to leave me. _No, I will not be weak, I am not a helpless little girl any more. _Sherlock looked at me as I held back tears, not letting it show. He could probably tell though, he was a genius after all, and I was sure he could read body language._ I will not be weak._

"Lana, I'm sorry if I upset you," Sherlock said, surprising me. His apology seemed genuine, and he was looking down at his hands. "I apologise if I stumbled upon a rather reluctant subject."

"You're fine, don't worry," I sniffed, inwardly cursing at myself for letting those tiny bits of emotion through. I managed to keep away the tears, but even as I did my younger-self's screams echoed in my head. I hated it, being brought down at the mention or use of a word. The world wasn't a playground, you needed to be tough, and I was determined to be just that. "What about you? How was your childhood?"

"Fairy pleasant until I met other children," he said, and I couldn't help but laugh. I hadn't laughed it that way for so long, when the tears in my eyes were purely from the laughter, when I got short for breath. It felt good to have elated laughter after so long. "What? They were stupid and boring," Sherlock said, looking confused at my fit of laughter.

I had calmed down by the time we reached Scotland Yard, and Lestrade was waiting for us in his office. "Sherlock, Lana," he said, nodding a hello to both of us. He handed Sherlock a piece of paper, which was then handed to me. "I've got the list of suppliers, but you're not going to like it. None of them say they've sold any of the specific drug for at least four months."

"So it's either someone else, or they have their own on site," I said, looking at the list of names. Both turned to look at me as if I'd had a eureka moment.

"What did you say?" Sherlock said.

"Well, this person has a lot of money obviously, who's to say he couldn't easily pay to have a team of scientists create the strain of the drug themselves? It cuts out the middle man and makes it relatively untraceable."

"I- Oh that is brilliant! Lana you are utterly fantastic!" Sherlock praised, jumping around like an excited child. He then realised what he was doing and reined in his excitement. "Of course, a lab on site would defiantly cut costs and cut danger. Hmm, very interesting indeed. Lestrade, I need satellite images of London and the greater area."

"Eh, I can't get them here but-" Lestrade started.

"Yes you can, I'll give Mycroft a call. I'm reluctant to go to him for help, but he does have control of all British and US satellites, so it would be incredibly helpful."

Sherlock was flitting around the room, talking to someone on the phone, as was Lestrade, so I decided I'd leave them to it and go for a bit of a wander. I felt like I needed some sort of caffeine, and judging by the fact that I was in Scotland Yard I presumed there would be a coffee machine somewhere. I was wandering the corridors looking for one when I heard someone call out.

"Oi, who are you? What're you doing here?" a voice said, and I turned around to see a woman with dark, curly hair. She looked at me with suspicion. "What's a kid doing here?"

"Oh, I'm here with Sherlock," I said as she walked up to me.

"Sherlock? Oh, you're that kid who's living with him," she realised, and relaxed a bit. "I don't think you should be wandering the halls."

"I was trying to find a coffee machine, do you know where the closest one is?"

"Yeah, I was on my way, just follow me," she said, and I did so. We turned a few corners and sure enough a large machine sat in its rectangular casing against the wall. The woman slotted a few coins in and pushed a button, and the machine whirred to life. "So, living with Sherlock Holmes. I'd worry for my sanity if I were you."

_I'm not very sane anyway, _I was tempted to say, but I held my tongue. "Yeah, its never boring I'll give him that. I'm Lana by the way, Lana Frey."

"Sally Donovan. I wouldn't trust Sherlock Holmes with taking care with a kid if I'm honest, but Greg thought it would be okay so I just kept my mouth shut." She took the cup out of the plastic holder, using it to warm her hands. I put my own money into the slot and ordered an extra strong coffee.

"I don't need much taking care of, I can handle things easy enough," I shrugged. Sally sighed.

"Look, you seem like a nice kid, but just be careful with Sherlock, okay," she said, looking me in the eyes. "His line of work isn't exactly child friendly, and it can get pretty dangerous. He's a psychopath, and he can sometime seem like he's not even human. Just take care, okay."

Sally walked away sipping at her coffee, and under my breath I mumbled "Sociopath, actually" I took my own cup from the machine and headed back to Lestrade's office, hoping they'd found something good by now. My hopes were fruitless however, as when I returned they both looked frustrated.

"Anything?" I asked, re-entering.

"Nope, nothing at all," Lestrade sighed. "We were just about to discuss you though. Sherlock, today _is_ the last day of the trial."

"Oh." My stomach dropped. I'd forgotten about it throughout the day, we'd been so occupied with the clients case. _I could be back at the home tomorrow morning, back in that cesspool where I'll never escape. _"Em, I'll, you know, step out then, let you discuss it in private."

I left the room once more, closing the door behind me and sitting down on the floor with my back against the wall, sipping my hot drink. There was a clock in the corridor, and the silence between every tick felt like it lasted longer than it should have. The coffee was still too hot and burnt my tongue, but I paid the sensation no notice. I was staring out into space, and I could almost see the old, worn out front door of the children's home. It had needed painted for years, and you could see the faint blue colour that had been painted over where the paint was chipped and peeling. I sat, and sat, and sat some more, but nothing happened for what felt like an hour at least. The clock said that it had only been ten minutes, but I didn't believe it.

The door of Lestrade's office opened, and Sherlock walked out, not giving me a second glance. He turned the corner and was gone, not a word said. _That's it then. I'm back, back to where I was five months ago. I'm just another body in a sea full of them, hoping and wishing that I'll be swept up by a net, and the captors will want to keep their catch. _I sat on the floor, not moving, trying to figure out what I was feeling. Anger? Sadness? Sympathy? Rage? I couldn't put it into a single word, because for the first time in my life I thought I was wanted, and to have it ripped from me was worse than straight up rejection.

"Are you coming?"

My head shot up and Sherlock was leaning from around the corner. I shot him a questioning look. "Wait, you mean, back to Baker Street?"

"Where else? You do live there now after all."

My feet carried me the fastest I'd ever moved and I crashed into him, wrapping my arms around him. "Thank you," I said, hugging him. He seemed shocked at first, but embraced me back after a few seconds.

"You're welcome," He said quietly.

When I let go I sniffed lightly and patted down my clothes. "If anyone asks, that never happened," I said, pointing a finger at him.

"Agreed," he nodded. "Now come on, the cab's waiting."

I smiled and followed him out of the building. _Maybe I do enjoy it. Well, I don't see how it's such a bad thing._

* * *

**AN: Hey guys! Hope you're enjoying this, I've got a big thing planned for this, don't you worry *taps nose***

Anyhoo, enjoy!


	7. Chapter 7

I sighed for the hundredth time that morning. _God, paperwork is such a bore. _Sherlock, Mycroft, John and I sat in Baker street, finishing off the arrangements for my legal guardian to be Sherlock Holmes. I was given I.D, a passport, and all the papers were signed.

"So, how is the case going?" Mycroft asked, handing Sherlock pieces of paper to put his signature on. The detective was about to reply but I saw my opportunity and butted in.

"We know that whoever is behind this is wealthy, extremely so, and can pay to hire professional hackers, lock pickers, killers, and chemists," I started. "They've got a large enough facility to produce the strain of phenazepam on site, meaning they're most likely in the greater London area. They're a professional themselves, planing each murder and crime scene down to each detail. They've going for Sherlock, catching his attention, and it's working. They needed a practice run for the second murder, an antiques shop being the perfect place to do so, and they're most likely working in the next murder right as we speak."

Sherlock looked from me to Mycroft, and the older of the Holmes brothers smiled. "She's learning fast. Lana, I am aware that you did go to a school before running away. Would you like to stay there or go to a new school?" Mycroft asked.

"New school please. I've had enough with that hell hole for one lifetime, and I haven't got any friends to I've got no reason to stay," I told him, glad for the opportunity to be rid of the place. In truth I'd rather have not gone to school whatsoever, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't have that choice. "But for the love of god don't send me to one of those posh schools that kids only get into if their parents can fork out a massive sum of money each year."

"If you're sure. I'll have it sorted by next Monday, so you've got the week off until you're back into the education system," Mycroft nodded, putting away the last papers. He tucked them neatly into his briefcase and locked it shut, sighed, and looked to Sherlock. "Do remember to be nice, brother dear. Lana is not a sociopath like you."

"Maybe I am," I added, making him give me an odd look. I laughed at his reaction and he left, muttering about being surrounded by oddities.

"So I guess you're one of us now then," John said, earning a look from Sherlock. "Welcome to a world of murder and psychopaths, I guess."

"Sounds delightful," I said, smiling. In truth I was slightly looking forward to solving murders and such, but the reasonable part of my brain was worried at my eagerness. I didn't give it any major thought though, as I decided that I may as well just go with the lifestyle I was being dropped into. "There hasn't been any more word on the case, has there?"

"I hope not, John's taking me to lunch," a voice said, and a woman was standing in the doorway. I deduced that this was Mary, John's wife, judging by the ring.

"Mary, this is who I was talking about. Lana, this is Mary, my wife," John said, making the introductions. Mary smiled and seemed kind from the first glance, but something about her eyes and her stance made me think there was something else going on with her. I left it alone.

"Hello, it's lovely to meet you," I said politely, trying not to seem like the next sociopath in line. I shook her hand and we exchanged smiles, and she seemed happy to see that I was doing okay.

"You too, John's be telling me how you're very clever," Mary said. John looked embarrassed.

"Oh, he's too kind. I'm not _that_ clever, although I'm pretty sure I could hack into Scotland Yard if I wanted to," I smirked. Mary laughed.

"I like you. Take care of her Sherlock," She said, "and come on John, we're going to be late and miss our reservation."

"You two behave while I'm out, don't go setting the house on fire," John called as Mary dragged him down the stairs laughing.

"She seems nice," I said, to which Sherlock tutted.

"You're going to need a lot of training. First of though we need to make you a mind palace," he said, and pointed to the chair opposite him. "Sit."

I did as he asked, moving from the sofa to the chair Mycroft had been sitting in before he left. Sherlock was looking right at me, eyes scanning over me, his mind working out half of my life from a single glance. His hands were at his chin, sitting in that intelligent and intimidating pose.

"What's a mind palace?" I said while breaking the lengthening silence.

"A place to store information and look over it in an orderly fashion, and in an effective fashion. You can have all the evidence scattered around in your head and look over it all in a fraction of a second." Sherlock said, leaning forward slightly.

"Sounds useful," I agreed. "So how do I make one."

"You need to picture a place, somewhere you can be in control and where you feel safe. And picture it vividly, as if you were really there," he instructed. "Go on, close your eyes and try."

I let my eyelids close, and the first thing that came to mind was an field of lush green grass, with small clouds in the blue sky and daises pushing up and dotting the sea of green blades. I tried to imagine the smell of the grass, the sound of the slight breeze, the feel of the suns rays on my skin. I tried, putting all my mind into it, but I just couldn't get the image vivid enough. I didn't feel safe, not even there. I sighed and opened my eyes.

"It's no use," I mumbled, annoyed with my own lack of ability, "I can't see it vividly enough."

Sherlock sighed and looked frustrated. "You need to focus, Lana! Try again," he said, and I tried, but once more failed. Sherlock gritted his teeth. "No matter, we'll try again later."

I tried to shake off my own disappointment, but no matter what I did, be it try to do some more research for the case or unpack all of my things, I couldn't shake the feeling that followed me throughout the day. By one o'clock in the afternoon I had given up nearly all hope.

"That's it, I'm going to a library. Where's the closest one?" I said, sighing as I grabbed my jacket.

"A few streets away, you'll find it signposted," Sherlock told me, taking a sip from his cup of coffee. I nodded my thanks as I proceeded down the stairs, giving Mrs Hudson a quick wave as I passed her. Out on the street I could feel the fresh air clearing my head, and I quickly found the signs pointing me towards the library.

The library was nothing special, but still held an extensive amount of books. They had an area to sit and read with tables and beanbags, and I decided as I was sifting through the shelves that I'd have to regularly visit. That decision was ensured when I got a little help while trying to pick a book to read.

"I recommend this one," someone said, and I turned and saw a girl, who looked to be around my age. Her hair was a pixie cut, black, and she wore a leather studded jacket and knee-length boots. She was holding a book out to me. "It's set in a dystopian future, you'll like it if you liked The Hunger Games."

I smiled as I took the book from her hand, the front cover reading 'The Maze Runner'. "Thanks," I said, "I'm Lana."

"I'm Callie," she smiled back, looking pleased as I read the blurb on the back of the book and nodded. "You like it?"

"Sounds interesting, I'll admit. Thanks, I'll let you know what I think when I finish it," I grinned. "Meet me back here in a week."

"Or I could just give you my number," she smiled, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was being hit on. I didn't mind, actually I was quite flattered. _She is pretty cute actually._ As I was thinking this she pulled a pen out of her pocked and asked if she could have my hand. I nodded, and she gently wrote the string of numbers on my palm. She smiled, rather cutely, when she was done. I did like her smile, I admitted to myself.

"Thanks," I said again. Trying to think of something funny and witty to say, I picked a book up from the shelf in front of me and handed it to her. "Try this one, it's really good."

"Game Of Thrones, huh? I've heard the TV show's pretty good," she said, taking the book from my hand.

"It really is, but the books are better. I'd recommend reading them first, then watching it," I advised. "You'll love Tyrion, he's one of the best characters."

"I take it you read quite a lot then," Callie said.

"Yeah, I do love a good book. Have you ever read The Lord Of The Rings trilogy?"

"Yeah, I really liked them. The Return Of The King was my favourite out of all three."

"Mine too, but oh my god you have to love Sam, he's so dedicated to Frodo."

"And Gimli and Legolas' friendship developing throughout the three books."

I couldn't help but giggle, I was just really happy that I'd met someone who, as far as I could tell, shared my interests. She seemed pretty nice too.

"I'd better go," she said, checking her watch, "I've got to be home before my sister gets back. Text me when you've finished the book."

"Okay, will do," I assured her, and she left with a smile and a wave. I was glad how smoothly I handled that. Letting myself calm down, I selected a few more books and headed over to the front desk, where the librarian checked them out for me. It was a middle-aged, quite grumpy looking man.

"There's a sale going on in bookshops all over London," he said, as if repeating it for the hundredth time. "I'll give you some vouchers for five percent off any purchase." He slid a few bits of paper into the back of 'The Maze Runner', stamped them, and handed me the books. His face never changed expression.

I left the library pondering the situation that had occurred. I certainly didn't consider myself good looking, and thought that someone took the time to work up the courage to talk to me made my heart flutter. By the time I was back at Baker Street my cheeks must have been red, because the first thing Sherlock said to me was "So, who is he then?"

"Excuse me?"

"The boy who you met at the library and who wrote his number on your hand, who is he?"

I smiled a mischievous grin. "Well, they were nice, charming, and quite cute."

"So who is he?"

"And they were also female," I grinned, and the look on Sherlock's face was priceless.

"Dammit, there's always something I miss," he hissed at himself. "This happened with John's sister."

"Looks like the all-knowing Sherlock Holmes isn't all knowing after all," I laughed, and sat down to start reading. "And for your information, yes, I will be seeing her again. She told me to text her when I finishing reading a book she recommended."

"How delightful, do let me know when the wedding is," he said, and retuned to the newspaper he was reading. I shot him daggers with my eyes, and launched the book towards his head. He dodged with almost perfect ease, and caught it with his right hand. He looked at the cover. "Now now, you wouldn't want to damage the book that sealed your fate, would you?"

"Shut up and give it back," I glared, and he whirled the book back at me. I failed to catch it, and it landed behind the sofa, and I had to clamber back there to get it out. As I rescued it the vouchers fell out of the back, and as I collected them off the floor something else was in there with them. When I saw it my mind went into shock.

"Sherlock, this is..." I said, holding the crisp white paper out to him. He must have saw my pale expression as he took it from my hand, and his face reflected his own reaction. He looked it over, but the only thing written on it was 'Aren't you enjoying out little game?'

"Where did you find this?" Sherlock asked, his voice void of all emotion but worry.

"I-it was in the back of the book, the librarian put some book vouchers in there and must have slipped the note in," I said, my voice cracking as I realised I had just been within a meter of someone who was working for the killer. For all I know something worse could have happened.

"We need to check this for prints. Come on, I think Molly's working right now," he said, focused and serious. I donned my jacket once more as Sherlock put the note in a sealed plastic bag from the kitchen, and we sped out of the flat and nearly got hit by the well timed taxi that was pulling up outside.

"St Barts hospital, and take the shortest route," Sherlock shouted at the driver as we got in, and the taxi sped off at slightly alarming speeds for the roads at that time of day in London. We got to Barts quick, and Sherlock was storming through doors and receptions as his mind remained focused on one thing.

"Sherlock, what are you-" Molly started, but stopped when she saw what was in the plastic bag that he carried. "I'll get the machines set up right away," she said, instantly professional.

I was helpless. I couldn't stop thinking about how close I had been to the librarian, something who was working for the killer. He could have stabbed me, shot me, killed me if he'd wanted. I could be dead, and people I knew could be dead too. And Callie, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I was scared that because she'd talked to me and hit on me she was going to get targeted. The thought of having an innocent persons death on my hands made me shiver. Sherlock and Molly were looking for prints while I was shivering. I felt useless.

"Sherlock, I've got a match," Molly said, and Sherlock sped over to look at the screen. Up popped the face of the librarian. They turned to me and I nodded, telling them that this was our man. "Gareth Wilson. 43, been employed as a librarian for twenty years. Divorced, no current spouse."

"So, it's more likely he was bribed rather than employed by our killer," Sherlock said. "Molly, stay here with Lana, I'm going to get John and then going to find Gareth Wilson."

"Wait, I'm coming with you," I protested, getting off the chair I sat on.

"No," Sherlock said forcefully. A look of slight pity flashed across his face for a split second. "You're in no condition to be looking for someone who could have killed you. I don't even need to deduce it, I can see your shaking. Stay here will Molly."

And with a flip of his coat collar he was gone. Molly and I were silent.

"So, you're living with Sherlock permanently now?" Molly said, breaking the tension.

"Yeah, Its hectic, but better than living at the home," I replied, giving a small smile.

"Can I ask something?" She asked, and I nodded. "Why did you run away from the home in the first place?"

I sucked in a sharp breath. The thought of all the reasons, the things that pushed me into running away, it stung. Molly looked ready to assure me to forget it, but I persisted. I couldn't let it rule over me my whole life.

"It stated about age thirteen. I was constantly bullied for the fact that I was bisexual, the fact that I'd been there my whole life, and the fact that I had no friends. I was a freak, and I fell into a dark place. I self harmed, but only once or twice before I was caught," I explained. "I got counselling, but it didn't help. They stopped it when they thought I was better, but really I was worse that before. I never left my room, I skipped school most days, I fell deeper and deeper into that dark place. Eventually it got too much, and on my 14th birthday I attempted to take my own life."

I could feel the tears welling up as I thought back to the dark time in my life, but I refused to let them show. _I wont let them control me anymore._ "I failed in killing myself, but it was on my permanent record. Before it happened I got a few visits every month, parents looking at kids, but after that nobody came. Who'd want a suicidal teenager? So I figured that the only was I was going to get out of there was of my own accord. I ran away."

Molly looked shocked. Obviously she expected a much more light-hearted explanation. I thought she was about to say the typical 'Oh my gosh I can't believe that, are you okay?' but instead she told me "I'm proud of you."

"What?"

"I'm proud of you Lana. You were in a bad place, and you nearly fell, but you got through it. You're much happier now, and you took things into your own hands. It takes a lot of willpower and courage for a fifteen year old to do that."

I didn't know what to say, nobody had ever been proud of me before. "Thank you," was all I managed.

"You know, Sherlock struggled with a dark place too. He had a drug addiction in his younger days, and it almost killed him. But he fought through it, because he had people who cared for him, like his brother. He wont admit it, but he'd never wish any hurt upon his brother," Molly confessed.

"But I don't have anyone who cares about me. I'm just some orphan Sherlock has been stuck with," I said, shaking my head.

"No, Sherlock had a choice to keep you or not, and he choose yes. I care for you, John cares for you, Mrs Hudson cares for you, Mycroft probably does as well. Sherlock cares the most though, because he sees himself in you. A young genius with a brilliant mind, who's been through hell and back."

Molly's words hung in the air, and I ended up hugging her tightly. Words couldn't thank her enough, so I said nothing.


End file.
